The blazing golden sands gave way to grey tarmac. A heavy jolt shuddered through the plane as the rear landing gears touched down. The wings drooped as the flaps retracted, dumping lift; and the engines roared, diverting their thrust forwards to kill the momentum. A second jolt signalled the front wheel contacting the ground, the strut compressing as the nose pitched heavily down.

He sipped at the last drops of his drink as the aircraft taxied up to the terminal, and then gazed at the distant cityscape: the far-away casinos, boldly coloured, stood overtly juxtaposed against the drab suburbs. As the final bead of bourbon touched his tongue, a stewardess in a tight blue uniform was ready to take the glass from his hand.

"Enjoy your stay in Las Venturas, Mr Costa," said the young blond, sweetly.

------------------------

The taxi took him from the airport and through the dusty streets. Cheerless malls were the flavour as they travelled towards the Strip. He hardly looked up as he travelled, choosing studious reading over the tacky scenery, and only glanced up as they passed a gaudy pirate-ship styled casino. The taxi stopped outside a vast hotel-casino complex. Faux-neoclassical styling blended with kitschy neon illumination meant that Caligula's Palace was simultaneously extravagantly opulent and obnoxiously repulsive. A round man in a cream suit stood amongst the hotel porters by the main door.

"Emilio!" shouted the man, yelling without regard to the passing visitors. "It's good to see you again. It's been too long."

"You too, Mario," Emilio responded while exiting the vehicle, his voice soft and restrained. "It's been what, ten years or somin'?"

"Like I said: too long. You hard-up Commission guys should come down here more often. Come see the Sun, away from all that damn rain." Mario grinned warmly; his expressive face was excessively friendly. "Blow off some of that cash you're all raking in!" he joked, laughing heartily.

"Yeah. Well I'm not seeing many Sindacco's in Liberty City too often, either."

Mario's grin remained but his chuckles stopped; his face momentarily strained as he tried to stay jovial. "Well, we know why that's so. So let's let be. Sh*t's good here though now." He turned and waved an arm towards the vast building behind him. "Since we got handling of this place, and got rid of that Jew, Rosenburg, the sh*t's been real nice to us."

"I'm happy for you. I had no problem with how the Sindacco's did business in Liberty City. And I know Maria has nothin' but admiration, too." Emilio's taxi driver approached him with the briefcase he had left behind in the car. "Oh, yeah. Thanks," he responded, slipping a fifty dollar bill to the cabbie as he handed it over.

"The f*ck's that for?" asked Mario. "Wanna put sh*t in writing?"

"Ha," laughed Emilio. "It's just easier going on a 'sales trip' if you actually look like a business-fella at the airport." They laughed together, both valuing the implicit irony. The door was held open by a porter as they entered the casino.

Walking through the halls and into the high rollers lounge, Emilio looked in astonishment at the lavish decorations and preposterous set-pieces. Catching himself in naive amazement, he shook his head at the silliness of it all. The high rollers lounge was empty apart from two guys at a single table, attended to by a lone card dealer.

"So you want to buy heroin from us?" asked Mario, bluntly.

Emilio stopped suddenly in his tracks. Shocked at his acquaintances openness, he concealed his association. "I don't know what you're talking about. Shouldn't do drugs; does horrible things, I hear."

Mario's cheekbones lifted gradually, his face turning into a cavernous grin again. "Relax! You think my casino is bugged?" He laughed heartily again. "You Liberty City guys are so paranoid. I'm glad we got out of there when we did. Meet two friends of mine. They're gonna set your mind at ease." Mario indicated to the men at the blackjack table. "Senator Lewis and Sheriff Bell."

"Great to meet you, buddy," said the Senator loudly, his portly form rising from his chair as he greeted Emilio. He wore a similar cream suit to Mario, albeit without his jacket, and appeared like a sweaty and fat businessman in the humid casino. "You've got my word that you're safe in this town. Mario Sindacco was a very generous supporter during the campaign and his friendship means a lot to me."He stood next to Mario and placed a beefy arm across his shoulders. The two large men: a bulbous double act. "We got ourselves a bit of an arrangement goin' on. We're comrades, except that we're not f*cking commies." He guffawed arrogantly. "You got any concerns you can talk to my dawg here." His slurred identifier indicated to Sheriff Bell, who span around on his chair to nod at Emilio; his khaki shorts and striped and collared t-shirt were out of character in the swanky casino.

The Sheriff grinned with a wide and toothy smile. His neck was long and his features goofy. When he spoke, his accent was drawn-out and grating, blending a Southern drawl with the banality of a civil servant. "You Eye-talians ain't no trouble for us, now." His misplaced vocal stresses were a foul wrench, sullying the spoken language. "So long as them Negroes keep out o' Venturas, your tradering ain't none o' my concern. Wouldn't wanna end up like Los Santos."

"So," said Mario. "You still wanna buy some sh*t? Or do you want a drink first?" Emilio's concerned expression gave way to a shrewd grin.

------------------------

While the Senator and Mario Sindacco polished off bottles of wine, Emilio Costa supped just the one, large bourbon. The Sheriff, another whiskey drinker, sat, with his head in his arms, bowed over the table.

Emilio grew impatient. What had been a business deal had turned into a drunken gambling session for his new partners. He picked up his briefcase and sat it heavily on the table. As the latches clunked open, the others stirred to attention.

"What the f*ck, Emilio?" shouted Mario. "We're playing a f*cking game here. First you don't wanna drink with us. Now you wanna f*ck our game up?"

"I didn't come here to get wasted with a bunch of rednecks," said Emilio, rising from the stool with a fiery stare. For the first time, his voice lost its restraint and echoed with menace. "Now are we gonna do a deal, or not?"

Mario glared back, uncertain of the open affront. Bell lifted his head and tried to talk. "I ain't no redneck, you piece of sh*t." His unfocussed eyes and confused expression gave no doubt that he was very drunk.

"Shut your trap, Bell," the Senator said, then paused to look at Emilio. "The reason you come to us," he started, addressing Emilio, "is 'cos you can't trust them f*cking spics in Vice City no more. Right?" The question was rhetorical; he continued without anyone speaking the known answer. "Now, here with us, the state ain't no problem." He straightened his back, sitting firm and upright with Senatorial grandeur. He spoke again with a proud boom, "'Cos I am the f*cking state!"

"Guys, guys." Mario attempted to be diplomatic in the tense stand-off. "Emilio's here to do a deal. He's right; we ought 'a get to business."

Emilio reached into his briefcase and drew out a stack of papers. The letterhead read, in large red letters, 'Auto Eroticar'. He flicked through the papers until pulling one out and laying it on the cards table. Tapping his finger on the picture of a blue Sentinel, he spoke, calm and softly again, to Mario. "Get one of these, same colour, same year, and get it legit; and we're on."

Mario took the sheet, studying the car closely. "Do you know how much these cost?" he asked, taken aback.

"Course I f*cking do," Emilio responded, frankly. "Besides, as the Pavanos are buying half a million dollars of heroin from you, the least you can do is buy your own f*cking tools."

Mario carefully nodded a faint sign of agreement. "And what do we do when we get our flash performance car?"

"You put the package here." Emilio showed Mario another picture, this one of the car interior, and pointed at the rear upholstery. "Then you drive to the meet, where our guys will be." He had another picture, this one a map of Iowa, and a small note with an Iowa address. "All you then need to swap are the car keys and the plates. No one touches no drugs or no cash. Everyone drives home."

"Then, next month, we swap the same cars again?"

"You got it."

The pair sat in silence for a moment while Mario contemplated the deal. "Sounds like you're the man with the plan, Emilio. Now, I hope you're more willing to drink to business." He waved to for another round of drinks, then stuck a hand out towards Emilio.

"Gladly," Emilio cordially responded as he grasped Mario's cream-cuffed hand. As they shook, Senator Lewis grinned, chugging the last ends of his glass down.

greenhound

"What the fu-""You dumbsh*t Jazz""Stop stop stop stop.." Jazz stopped their bickering. "I did what I had to do, he betrayed us and we aren't tolerating assholes here" Jazz let go of the wheel, leaving the dirty primo standstill by the side of the road.Franco hit him in the face. "Thats not the point here f*ckface, the point is you did it right infront of everyone, for everyone to see, on the street." The sound of sirens slowly blended into the atmosphere."Were gonna f*cking die!" Carlos b*tched. "Holmes chill, stop being f*cking p*ssies" Jazz was a tanned 29 year old spanish criminal. They were all spanish, except for Franco. "If anyone's dying, it's not being us."

It was 10pm. The police car pulled over behind the car and turned off its sirens. Carlos was terrified."Stay cool I can handle this" Jazz seemed confident in his voice. The officer peered through the window."Im afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle." Jazz turned his head round to see an obese man in his 40's giving him a blunt look."I'm afraid I'm going to have to say.. no!" Jazz lashed out leaving the officer on the floor, he turned the car radio up full blast and slammed his foot down on the rugged peice of metal that used to be a pedal. "F*ck yeah, b*tch" Franco screamed out the window. Carlos picked up his handgun off the floor, looked through the rear window and spotted a cruiser pursuing the gang. He poked his hand out the window, then the top of his head. "Looks like we've got ourselves a stalker boys.." In one shot he nailed the driver in the face, causing the car to voilently spin and turn out of control, crashing the vehicle into a power line. "Nice shot Carlos, thats why we call you marksman Carlos." complimented Franco"Yeah, makes up for you being such a vain pussy." said Jazz.

The murder had gone down in south alderney, the industrial district. Jazz stopped the car by an abandoned warehouse near Honkers. "Heres a place we can hide out."

Build Up Your Gang

It's been a few weeks since the last posting and I thought, regardless of the fact that there have only been a few stories postes (that weren't my own), I'd take this chance to issue my first set of ratings.

vinnygorgeousThe Gambetti Family | Come Clean (drycleaners) | Chapter 6$45 + $1,837 = $1,882A very interesting story with a host of entertaining characters. You convey the feel and atmosphere of a commission meeting very convincingly. I really enjoyed the way the conversation increases in tension with the disagreements between fiery characters, but then is interrupted by the authoritative coolness of Giovanni Ancelotti. It sets a nice tempo for the story.I commend your use of dialogue. It's well-thought-out and every character has an individual tenor. There are a few lines that were very good: almost stereotyping to a point of being cheesy, but retaining a flare that echoes with Godfather-esque Italian class. "but it is, what it is, a stalemate" was a particular favourite.Aside from the narrative though, the your grammar shows a few signs of fault. The first two sentences for example,

QUOTE

In an anonymous looking apartment in a quiet neighbourhood on Colony Island. Five of the city’s most influential men gathered for the first commission meeting in three years.

should have been combined. The first sentence doesn't work on its own in this context. Word will not pick up on this detail so it's easy to overlook, but the sentence is operating as an adverbial, hence is dependant on the second sentence to give it true meaning."dinning room chairs" sound very loud. Probably better buying dining room chairs instead.Also, there's no need to put speech on a separate line every time. Occasions like this:

QUOTE

Mark Lupisella angrily butted in,

“They will if we f*ckin’ say so!”

do not need separating onto two lines.Overall, still a quality piece and a great read. Some may think there is a lack of action, but this staff prefers writing characters to guns so commends the work.

.2DAngels Of Death | Hi-Way Auto-Shop | Chapter 1: Hell Of A f*ckin' Payload$38 + $497 = $535First comments: I don't like the use of "Memory..." and "Superstar Cafe.." to set the situ for the story. It's a technique more akin to writing script than prose. It's not terrible, but it would be far better if you could convey this information through writing, rather than just present it up-front. Also, as for coloured text for speech, I don't see a need for it particularly. We have punctuation for that purpose. However, this being the internet and all ink costing the same, it is a matter of personal preference. As a new member of staff, and fresh to these forums, I have not yet experienced your previous stories so read this anew to your work. In general, I am greatly pleased with it. A two-part story of a parent leaving a child, then the child growing up to be a rough, tough, son-of-a-bitch biker is pretty engrossing and very bold and inventive. Again, as I said to vinnygorgeous, characters make stories, and this one of yours is plentiful in characterisation.There are a few spelling errors that suggest you might not have used a spell-checker. MS Word (if you have it) or even the Google taskbar would have sorted these out, so there should not be an excuse for it. Watch out for these in the future: resturaunts - restaurantstattoo'd - tattooeddiscusted - disgusteddissapeared - disappeared couldnt, didnt - couldn't, didn'tCongratulations though on a good Chapter 1 in, what I hope, should be a good storyline.

greenhoundThe Spanish Lord | Sprunk Warehouse | Chapter 1$26 + $911 = $937362 words is too short. Double this would be a good length. There isn't particularly an upper limit: trust me, I'm personally trying to find it. This shortness will be reflected in the ratings and I recommend you expand on the story more. There are things you can do to increase your word count without stuffing it full of rubbish, however. Try and flesh out descriptions with important details. Touching the minutiae of an event can bring life to your writing. There are some things here that are significant but are brushed off with unhealthy disregard.

QUOTE

Jazz lashed out leaving the officer on the floor

You lash out at an officer? Or do you decide to disregard the law and, stealing your own fate, viscously smash the officer in the face as he lazily scanned your back seats. Then, as he stumbled to the ground, you rebelliously turn your radio up and... blah blah. Just by working small details in your story becomes a more engrossing read as it's full of genuine action. Apart from the shortness, the story is pretty good. As an introduction to a chain, it brings in three characters who are totally in place in the Liberty City we know. Kinda remind me of L, H and A from TBOGT. The dialogue they share is good with distinct signs of dialect that convey personalities.A few spelling and grammar mistakes are contained. peice, voilently . Also, Spain deserves capitalisation, as does Alderney. Again, find a spell-checker before you post. I recommend this as an absolute minimum to everyone that posts. I even spell-check this before posting.

aragond

Congratulations, first, to Maverick and... oh, it's me? ... for Staff-ification.Secondly, I hear Staff are planning to address your three outstanding stories, but are seeking to re-read the entire lot so as to answer your question. That won't be this weekend.Thirdly, interesting choice to go where you have; read on.

Episode Three, "Escalazione", Part FiveThe smoke-filled restaurant was abuzz with noise. Several bloated figures in polyester suits sat around a large table smoking thick cigars. The table was covered in tomato sauce-stained dishes, streaked by chunks of bread dragged across the surfaces, and the tablecloth bore the wounds of a night's voracious eating by fat-fingered men. Discussing matters of state, the tone alternated between deep seriousness and bursts of raucous laughter. Aside from the one table, the restaurant was closed, two burly men standing at the door to dissuade regulars who might come in for a late night meal. And aside from Charlie at the bar, the staff were conspicuously absent.

Big Lou reclined upon his chair between Joey Ventura and Dominick Cafranza; Joey Genovese, Tony Bells, Quiet Mikey and Leo to his right, Mad Tony, Angie Peppone, Nicky Nails and Al to his left. Sitting opposite was the man of the occasion, the very recently released John Paul 'Jackie' Trapani. Franny's muscleman, John 'lead-pipe' Pucillo, and 'Doc' Cirillo sat on a neighbouring table, overwatch.

"I'm tellin' ya," Angie continued over the laughter, "shots are poppin' everywhere, cops are crawlin' all over the f*ckin' place, and there's Jackie, walkin' straight past the f*ckin' cop, shovin' him out the way and puttin' six rounds straight into that f*ckin' biker...

"And STILL he only gets eighteen months!"

The room burst into another round of laughter, before, after a respectful pause, Big Lou raised his glass, settling any remaining guffaws into serious poise.

"To fallen men of honour, and there's been a f*ckin' few since you were taken from us, Jackie," Big Lou said, the room nodding and affirming the truth of it, "and to John Paul Trapani... Jackie... Welcome home!"

With one unanimous movement, the entire table raised their glasses toward Jackie and shouted, "SALUT!" then drank.

"So, speaking of changes, are we expecting the boss, tonight?"

"He said he'd stop in after the Mayor's charity drive," Leo replied. His voice trailed off as he added, "but...", with a shrug.

Big Lou drew the cigar from his fat lips and puffed two large smoke rings into the air thoughtfully. The room quietened, the older and wiser because they recognised Lou as the most senior man at the table, and the younger because they knew better than to speak at this table.

"Vano could be setting a trap for all of us with this high-life of his," Lou finally said, picking a small piece of tobacco from his lips with his thumb and ring finger.

"The old guys knew a low profile kept 'our thing' out of sight." The room briefly paused with an almost reverent hush.

"Fuuuuck, Lou," Jackie said with a laugh that cracked the silence. "Still walkin' in the shadow o' the old man.

"Aint nuthin' changed about you over the past six years," he added, grinning broadly. Taking a glass and pouring himself another shot, Jackie raised his glass in toast, "to Ole Man Pegorino, to the old days, to the rising like a phoenix of Familia Pegorino."

Each man hastily grabbed or filled a glass to join in the toast no one ought miss, Lou being the last to lean forward, a deliberate affirmation of his seniority.

"To Don Pegorino. Salut!"

As the men wiped the excess from their lips and downed their glasses, and the goons on the door blocked entrance to two guys, 'Lead-pipe' intervened, welcomed the two men with a bear-hug each, then introduced them to the table with, "Hey, look who da f*ck it is!"

On seeing Tommy Tuna, resplendent in a long coat and a shiny suit, limp toward the table with his cane, the entire group rose with a cacophony of welcomes and cheers. Al vacated his seat and pulled it out for Tommy who sat down after several more hugs.

"So, how's the leg?"

"Yeah, well, still f*cked-up, but can't complain," Tommy replied. "What good would it do?" he added, the whole table nodding and voicing resigned agreement.

"F*ckin' puta Russians," 'Quiet' Mikey said with a thumbing of his teeth and a spit. "Attacking a Boss's funeral, for f*ck's sake." The table nodded more agreement. "F*cking animals."

"So, how's things now Vano... uh, Gino is boss?" Tommy eagerly asked with a grin that let on that he knew something worth knowing. The table remained respectfully mute, no one willing to slander the name of the boss, until Lou enquired about Tommy's boyish grin.

"Well, I hear the stress, y'know, of being boss an' all that, is getting to Vano," Tommy said. "Bruno says he threw his phone at the wall, smashed it to f*ckin' pieces, over some sh!t. And now, and dis is the best part, now he's seein' some f*ckin' voodoo woman shrink on account of the stress."

The table didn't know how to respond to this news, some shaking their heads, some remarking that Jimmy "lost his sh!t, too". Lou enquired what the words "voodoo woman shrink" meant.

"Ahh, I aint sure, Lou, some mumbo-jumbo empowerment speaker," he said with a shrug. "Y'know, getting in touch wit' your feminine side or some sh!t. She aint a real shrink, just some hippy chick he's lettin' f*ck wit' his head."

Lou leaned forward and put an elbow on the table ready to unveil further insights to the table when the door burst open with a shout: "Pull up your panties, ladies, the real men have arrived!"

Once again, the room burst into shouts, welcomes, hugs and kisses on cheeks as they welcomed Joel, Slugger and Nicky Tramunti. The three men made a point of giving a strong embrace to Jackie and Lou before more vacating of seats by lower-ranked men, more pulling up chairs, and the three men sat down.

"So, what were you ladies talking about?" Joel asked while picking up some of Angie's bread and dragging it through a mostly-emptied plate of meatballs in bolognaise sauce.

Jackie mischievously dropped Lou in it, offered his take. "Big Lou was about to impart the wisdom of his assessment on the stresses working on Gino, I think," he said with a grin.

Lou replied with a discrete middle finger causing Jackie to chortle.

"I.. I dunno there, Lou. All due respect an' all that sh!t," Joel began, waving one of his bejewelled fat fingers, "but I'd be very careful about the boss, since, afterall, he is the boss, now. And he's under a lot of stress, what, with three-quarters' the family in the ground, people missing, and, f*ck, now Jackie's back from prison... that's a whole new load o' stress right there," Joel added with a teasing grin, which lead to bread being thrown, and Joel exclaiming, "Hey, hey! Watch the f*ckin' suit."

"An' Franny," Joel said. "Who knows where the f*ck he's at.

"Or what the f*ck he's up to," Joel added, seeking a reaction. He got it.

Joel sat back. "Alright, alright, Lou, I didn't mean nuthin' by it. But, where IS the fat f*ck, these days? It's been weeks."

Lou shot a look at Al, before replying. "He had to make a sudden trip out of town. Very suddenly."

"Who's out of town, Lou?" The voice came from the front of the rapidly darkening restaurant where Sammy Lodioso had snuck inside quietly and was standing, taking off his coat and handing it to his bodyguard, 'Hatchet' Gurino, to hang up.

Unlike other entrances, this time no one leapt to greet Sammy, but stood out of respect. A few of the men closest to the door, including Joel's crew, shook Sammy's hand, while Sammy made a bee-line for Jackie while staring over at Lou, still waiting for an answer.

"Who had to rush out of town, Lou?"

"Franny. He had urgent business outa town."

As Sammy finished impersonally hugging and whispering "welcome back" to Jackie while holding his hand, he turned back to Lou as he sat in the seat 'Quiet' Mikey rapidly vacated out of deference.

"What business? Where did he go?"

Lou glanced at Al' again, as though to check the kid's composure. Lou knew Sammy was fishing, that Franny's loyalty was being questioned, but not just by Joel, now by the effective-underboss of the family. No doubt the pair had been talking a great deal about Franny's absence, particularly since Franny had been "in-line" for the same promotion Gino had received from Jimmy just months before Jimmy's demise. Franny, in their mind, might view himself as a rival boss. Franny's absence could not have come at a worse time.

"Las Venturas. He's working a scam with a crew in Las Venturas."

"So, why the f*ck hasn't he called? One little phone call" he said, mimicking "little" with his fingers.

"And why doesn't his own bodyguard know f*ck-all about this sh!t?" Sammy said, gesturing at Joey Ventura. "I mean, no disrespect, Joey, but L.V. is your f*cking home town, and he's not taking you with.

"I'd be wondering whether my loyalty was being treated... appropriately," Sammy added, selecting his words carefully, and screwing up his face, 'just sayin'-style.

Lou squeezed Joey's thigh to prevent him saying a word.

"He was meeting these guys in Venturas, but he was being taken somewhere else," Lou offered inventively, tap-dancing as fast as he could. "It was all hush-hush, survivalists or some sh!t, out in the desert.

"He'll be back soon enough with good news, I think."

The explanation seemed to satisfy Sammy, though Joel was convinced he still smelled a rat. "It better be fantastic f*ckin' news, Lou," Joel sniped before being gestured to drop it by Sammy. He did.

Hence, the evening turned to lighter topics, to old friends, to new opportunities, but mostly... mostly laughter.

The evening continued late into the night, a feint light burning in the quiet, darkened street. Little traffic passed through, in contrast to across the West River in Alderney City, where cars roamed nosily back and forth along Lockowski Avenue, the automotive hot-spot of Alderney. Auto Erotica, lit like a Christmas tree, was abuzz with activity, men revving their engines, testing their exhausts, smiling proudly at the flourescent underlighting being added to their cars. For the car yard, Friday night was a popular night for the rev-heads.

But, not only rev-heads.

A Sentinel stopped in the driveway and two portly men in their forties stepped from the car, adjusted their gleaming polyester suits, and walked toward the entrance to the showroom, not stopping to reply to any greeting from the workmen in the workshop. In the quiet offices, a similarly portly man also in his forties greeted the two with broad hug and a kiss on each cheek.

"Go right in," he said with a raspy voice. "He's expecting you."

The two men open the door of the office and step inside where four men are in conference. Behind the desk, resplendant in a black shirt, discretely multi-coloured striped suspenders attached to his dark pin-striped suit pants, the matching jacket hanging from the back of his comfortable, reclining office chair, sat Joey Campagna. Dapper Joey, capo de Familia Pavano, and boss of the family's expanding Alderney operations.

His fingers carried an assortment of rings, gold mostly, as he twisted between his fingers a diamond encrusted golden letter-opener. To his left stood Vito Giancana, a thin man with long black hair slicked back, dressed in grey shiny polyester suit pants with suspenders over a siena-coloured shirt.

Giancana was gesticulating wildly, as he questioned two men seated in the black leather couch pressed against the same wall as the door, when the two men stepped inside.

"Hey, Dom, Carlo, come in, come in," Vito said inviting the men inside. Closing the door, they took the wooden seats to which Vito directed them, passing their seated comrades with brief greetings. "Please tell me youse got more news than these two f*cks have for the Don."

The two men on the couch, chastened at the verbal slap, looked to Dominic and Carlo for news.

"I... I aint sure about that, Vito. We broke into Gerry's apartment, and everything's there but Gerry," Carlo offered.

Vito spun around, slapping his forehead, whispering "what the f*ck" under his breath.

"It's f*ckin' strange, Vito, I tell ya. So, we went to Fat Marty's and, same sh!t."

"Place had been broken into already, so, some sh!t was missing," Dom added sitting forward. "But, no Marty. We asked around, and no one's seen him for days."

"You got nothing more than that?" Vito asked in desperation.

"It's like they did the job and then upped and vanished into thin air," Dom concluded.

"Maybe they gone to Venturas or somethin', y'know, Marty's got that itch an' all," the younger of the two men seated on the couch offered, careful not to speak directly to the Don or Vito but to his buddies seated in the chairs. Before Vito could leap the desk and slap him, the second guy agreed.

"Donny's right. Could be they skipped town on some outstanding debts to Gravelli, too. They owed some heavy liftin' to the Gambettis, I heard."

It clearly did not please Vito that speculation was the best the four could offer. Yet, Vito was but a leading soldier, Joey's right-hand man. It was their Caporegime, Joey, they feared most. So, while Vito's blood pressure clearly rose, the four seated men waited with a measure of fear for Joey's punishment. And yet, while Vito fumed, Joey just grinned.

"Waddya wanna do with these f*ckin' useless mopes, boss?"

"It's almost too perfect, wouldn't you say?"

"Boss?" Vito looked at Joey grinning and twirling the opener.

"I s'pose none of you thought to check their bureau?" Joey suggested. "Look to see if the clothes they packed for Venturas, Los Santos, Brazil or whereever the f*ck they've run-off to were also missing?"

Not thrilled to be giving bad news to Joey, the four took a moment before Carlo offered a reply: "Didn't seem like they'd packed, no, boss."

"Whadya thinkin', Boss?" Vito enquired respectfully.

"That this sh!t has Big Lou Clemente's stink all over it," Joey spat, emphasising the word "all". The five men stared at Joey with question marks over their heads. "That whimpering simp running the glorified crew called the Pegorinos probably doesn't want a war with the Family Pavano. He's told Lou to cool it with us. Afterall, since we shot them up, anybody been hit? Any of our fronts been burned?

"Pegorinos don't have the stomach for war.

"But, Lou," Joey said, waving a finger in the air, standing, and wandering to the window, "Lou can't just let it go. Can't have someone else claim what that old fossil Don Pegorino secured as territory. So, he disappears 'em. Our firebirds, Big Marty, Gerry and Tommy K., just *poof*, and they're never heard from again.

"Afterall, we can't prove he iced them. But, we get the message anyway. And that, Gentlemen," Joey concluded, turning to face the five men, "is the mark of a consummate professional like Big Lou."

"Sound like you admire him, Boss," Donny gently suggested.

"Oh, but you have to admire a sneaky f*ckin' rat like Lou," Joey replied wistfully. Turning to the five, he added a piece of advice: "Don't none of you ever under-estimate Big Lou."

"So, if he did this sh!t," Vito said, "you want us to hit the Pegorinos anyway?"

"No, no," Joey replied, sinking into his chair again. "We got them by the balls, and any day we can squeeze. But first, we gotta get rid of Lou, and, gentlemen, I happen to know exactly how to do just that."

Needless to say, that wraps up episode three, only a year after I started writing, I think.As always, I am genuinelyinterested in feedback. If you'd prefer not to clog the thread, feel free to PM instead.

I've also realised I'm writing something bigger than... well, than I fear BUYG IV will last for. Do I write faster-but-crappier, or do I hope y'all are still reading in six years?

aragond

Go for it. Rules are that you post the first story for that location (provided it's already available, which it is) and it's yours. Staff update the gang list upon reviewing.(Which is probably about due. )So, start writing.

It was very early in the morning, I was tired and the only thing keeping me half awake was cofee, strong too. It had been more than an hour waiting out here, for that slippery rat to leave the prison, his name was Vito "Dog meat" Minotti, he got the nick-name "Dog meat" because he used to grind the remains of his enemies into dog food in the early 90's, and now he was turning states evidence.

After a few more minutes, a man walked out of the facility, it was dark and hard to see, and i didn't want to put my head-lights on for unwanted attention, the rat might run. The police in this state must have been really stupid to let a high-ranking mobster rat, leave by himself without any protection, the aurthorities probably didn't even care what happend to him, one way or another, they had their imfomation, f*ck him, thats probably what those pigs thought.

I nudged Paulie, he was a close friend and a Capo in the gambetti family. I was only an associate, but the boss wanted me to go along on this because this was a great oppertunity to get me Made, be part of the family, right now all i was, was a corrupt union delagate on behalf of the Gambetti's. Paulie was still asleep, i nudged him again.

"Paulie, wake up he's out!" i shouted"Where, where is he""Getting in that Black sentinel, lets see where he goes now""Probably to his factory, he still owns it"

We continued to follow the guy, we left two car spaces apart, that was what i was taught, either way there wern't that many cars on the street, he probably was aware that people wanted him dead. We passed under the free way, passed the docks, and continued to keep on his tail.

"Paulie, i never heard of this guy, is he even in our family" i asked confused but anxiouse"To be honest he's not, but the Boss of the Pavano's wants us doing this, since the guy ratted out on more of our associates than he did theirs, i think it's fair that we get to spill this guys blood" said paulie gripping his fingers, "Besides, this is gonna get you made, you'll be a respected, well deserved member of the family" added paulie smiling.

The black sentinel slowed down and turned a sharp corner into a rather run down factory, aparently it was still active though. we followed in after that rat vito, very, very slowly and i made sure that all the lights were off. we pulled up behind a wall, and didn't go all the way down the drive. I reached back and grabbed the shotgun from the back, as paulie and i slowly opend the door without a squint of a sound, and gently closed it. we ducked behind the wall, and saw Vito getting out of his car, carrying his suit on his right arm. It looked like he was un-armed and he pulled out his keys to open the factory door.

This was our only chance, because once he was inside he would lock us out, so on the count of three " 1..2....." whispered paulie as on the "...3!" both of us ran up towards that little snake, as he rushed to open the door, panicing, he tried to slam the door shut on us but paulie jabbed his foot to stop the door from closing, i loaded the shotgun. When vito saw the weapon, he just ran into the factory without looking back, as i was running along with paulie you could hear vito whimpering, terrified.

"He's going around, go that way, i'll catch him this way!" shouted paulie, so i sprinted round the other way in the dark, could hardley see where i was going, i however found a light switch. so i quickly flicked it, as the factory became visible. I saw vito as did paulie, we both managed to grab him, i got the end of the shotgun and smacked him in the eye with it as blood came dribiling down his face.

"Who's been a little rat uh? have you been a little rat?" paulie said intimidating him"Please, stop it wasn't my fault, just pleehehee" vito didn't even finish his sentence because he was crying so much. "Hey Vito..remember you use to grind the remains of your enemies into dog food here?" as i said laughing"Oh god please no! common kill me just don't do this" cried out Vito the rat"Common paulie lets put him in here"

Paulie and i grabbed him as Vito didn't even try to fight back, he just let us drag him across the floor, he was crying out so much he didn't even notice us. He gave out two final big yelps, before me and paulie opened up a door of a shaft that lead to a machine which grinded up the dog food, Vito then quickly tried to escape but we closed the shaft door on him and locked it, finaly he was trapped, and would die a very painfull death.

"Please No!!!" echoed Vito's voice out of the shaft vents"Well Paulie, do the honours and flick the switch on" i said"Every dog has his day" and then Paulie flicked on the swtich, as the grinding noises rose up, and as Paulie and I left the Factory all that was heard was grinding mixed with screams of a dieing rat.

Kaizer Chief

Bohan is a salacious island of thieves, of whores, of criminals. Small and cramped, it is the scum of Liberty City that grows its roots in the aged concrete of the city's smallest borough. Thus, it might seem to outsiders that us Albanians hanging out in Bohan might be simply the natural order of things. It might seem that the borough of lowliness and grime would be only inhabited by the most useless of lowlifes and the simplest of simpletons, which us Albanians are often misjudged as in this cruel country.

But it was not always this way. Albania used to have proud representatives in Liberty City, with strong footholds in Broker and Algonquin. We ran businesses, controlled the heroin trade, terrorized smaller gangs. People say that one can either be feared or be respected; at that time, was it too much to ask for both?

It all changed the day I went with Bledar to collect long-overdue payments from some Serbian gambler. That day, we all met the Serb's cousin: a dreaded foe named Niko Bellic. He was rough with his methods, especially when it came to defending his family members. Bledar and I were totally outfought; Niko fractured Bledar's neck, leaving him in critical condition, while I was stabbed in the abdomen. Thankfully, I managed to dial 911, and an ambulance picked us up. By that time, Niko - that ballsy son of a bitch - had gone after Dardan Petrela, our gang's leader. Later, in the Schottler Medical Center, as I lay in my gurney, I saw on the news that Dardan had been pushed into the Humboldt - a gang-related murder. Dardan, whom I grew up with, who had promised my parents back in Tirana that he would take good care of me, who had shown me the ropes to everything related to gang life. Dardan was dead, and this man Niko had killed him by pushing him into a river.

All at once, our lives began falling apart. Albanian gang members were weakening across the city; our rivals were capitalizing on our leader's death. I remember a week where three important Albanians across the city were taken down. On Monday, Dmitar, our Algonquin second-in-command who did business over in Middle Park was shot by goons from the Spanish Lords. Wednesday, Pavel, a loan-shark and associate of ours, was thrown off a building's roof by M.O.B. gangsters who had caught him stealing a car. The cops later found his mangled body in a dark alley, with his pockets emptied and several limbs broken. And on Friday, there was Mr. Morina, Bledar's father, who was simply walking on the Bohan streets when the ratbastards of the Torres Cartel attacked him and left him critically injured.

Weeks later, I had stepped up to become the temporary leader among the fellow disheartened troops. But just as things were brightening up, there came the final blow to our dwindling hopes of ever regaining our hold in Liberty City. And it was delivered by none other than Niko Bellic, who had become notorious for his cold methods since his arrival. The Ancelottis hired us for a job, but we were infiltrated by Niko, who turned the two gangs against each other. During the bloody firefight, I had recognized Niko's face, and fired several well-aimed shots at him. He fell over and writhed, but the son of a bitch was wearing body armor. Upon seeing this, I came to my wits and ran away - I needed to regroup and rethink in order to take the Albanian Mob to the top again. I was determined to let nothing get in my way. And the first mission - the first obstacle that needed clearing - was the pesky Serb, Niko Bellic.

Tycek

Black Rebla and two bikes belonging to the Lost stopped in the parking bay, marked by yellow lines, in front of three story building that was serving as our clubhouse. The lowest level of the building was covered in clinker brick to make some kind of stronghold look. You know what they're saying: Your home is your castle. This building was our home. Members of the Lost could drink, sleep, play games or even get laid if they were lucky, because there were always biker chicks ready to help man in need. They were escaping from their homes and trying to join our circus, thinking that life here must be exciting and full of adventures. Maybe, if you are considering drug trips as adventures and fighting with other crazy f*ckheads as excitement. Our club just like many others motorcycle clubs had a structure of brotherhood. We considered other members of the Lost as brothers and sometimes this bond was stronger than any blood ties. Johnny had a brother named Michael, but he loved Angus and Jim more than anyone. Love wasn't only thing in the air, there were always strong smells of weed, crystal meth, cheapest cigs, lousy piss poor drinks and of course anger. Sometimes we were so f*cking angry at each other that we were fighting amongst ourselves. It wasn't maybe fight to the death, but from time to time the situation became very hot. But this is normal thing in family like ours. Pathologic, full of drugs users and all kinds of f*ckheads, but having one family name: Lost MC. We turned off the engines of our vehicles and got off. I stretched my bones and check the view around me. The world wasn’t whirling anymore, but the arm slowly started to hurt. The damn painkillers weren’t working anymore. I looked at the sun slowly coming down. Slightly orange sky was carrying early signs of winter, which was soon to come. We went inside where heavy music and dim lights were supposed to make antechamber of hell atmosphere. Girl was trying to dance in the cage, but if harder she tried, the dance became worse. Some types of music are just un-danceable and death metal is one of them. In fact she was dancing like a Pinocchio full of termites, but she was great piece of ass. She looked like she was 20, maybe 21 years old and she had a fantastic body. She was probably another rich guy’s daughter wanting to live some tough biker life or just made her daddy mad. These girls were often leaving their job, because they were finding that life in a biker club isn’t as fantastic as they thought or simply starting to do meth, which helped with a dance, but quickly took over. After some time they ended on the street or in the gutter. Similar situation was with that Butler girl that currently was Johnny’s woman. She started as a cage dancer when Klebitz scooped her out. Some people were saying she was a daughter of Congressman Butler, but that was unconfirmed information. She escaped from some kind of party having only one dress and small purse, because her parents thought that love could be exchanged for money. She was having credit card in the purse, but her father blocked it as soon as he could. Ashley was on the street without a dollar in the purse, so she started to do blow jobs in public toilets, especially that one in Middle Park. As soon she earned some cash she started to do meth. And who is making the best Meth in whole Liberty. Of, course our brother Jim Fitz. She was buying another dose from another one of ours: Jason Michaels were the cops showed up. That was nobody’s fault, just a normal sweeping in search for dealers. Jason was caught and Ashley escaped. She knew only guys from the blowjob and our gang, so she was looking for a help at our clubhouse. It happened two years ago in 2003, so Ash was with as for about two years. She and Johnny started dating about a year ago, but our vice prez soon started to think what Ashley’s true love is: he or crystal. Russians didn’t look at the dancing girl and went straight to the bar.

“Bartender,” Yuri said to young man standing behind the bar. “Can we drink some vodka here?”

“Of course,” bartender answered pulling bottle of Cherenkov vodka from under the bar.

“So, vodka on the rocks. Four, please,” Yuri said looking on his men.

“Of, course,” bartender said and started to make four vodkas. “Yours vodka.”

“Thanks,” Yuri answered and taking one of the shot glasses from the tabletop and said to his men, “пить.”

They took their glasses without saying anything and drunk vodka on one shot. They put empty glasses on the bar.“Thanks,” Yuri said scooping the whole room. “Where is your boss?”

This question made one biker to start looking for our president. He came back with him after a while. Billy came to the Russians, looked at them and said: “William Grey. President of this chapter of the Lost Motorcycle Club. What the f*ck is happening right here,” he introduced himself just perfectly.

“We’ve got business proposition for you and your people, but I would like to speak with you alone,” Yuri said without showing any emotions in his voice or on face.

“Okay. Come with me,” Billy said and showed him the way.

“Оставайте здесь,” Yuri gave his men order to stay.

Billy and Yuri went upstairs where brothers were playing all kinds of games, like Hi-Lo cards, arm wrestling, pool or some arcade machines. I stayed downstairs with Johnny, Angus and the rest of the brothers. Russians also stayed with us, but they were standing next to the bar and drinking other shots of vodka. We were standing next to the dance cage and we were trying to catch some sounds from upstairs. Sound that occurred a minute later we would have heard even if the AC-DC had played live in our clubhouse. Something was thrown or crashed with big strength. We wanted to run upstairs to save our president from the anger of Russian mob or to save Russian mob from anger of our president, but we saw our friends coming downstairs.

“What happened there?” Johnny asked.

“Billy told us to get the f*ck out,” one of them answered with sadness in his voice. “Important meeting…You know.”

“Yeah, we know,” Johnny answered coming to the bar where he ordered glass of whisky. He took it and came to us. He looked on Angus and asked. “What about that gift for Billy?”

“It’s almost ready. It’ll be ready for his birthday,” Angus said.

“What are you talking about f*ckheads,” I asked. Are you gonna tell me?

“Let’s go outside,” Johnny said and went outside. We followed him.

Johnny sat on the stairs leading to our clubhouse and slowly sipped some whisky. I sat next to him and Angus stood in front of us.

“Because you’re not Billy asskisser we can tell you,” Johnny said. “In few days Billy will have his 35th birthday. We had an idea to give him custom bike”.

“Did he really deserve it?” I asked.

“He isn’t perfect, I can tell you that, but he is our president and what is more important, our brother. We want to show him our respect, so we’ll give him something special,” he explained.

“I theoretically don’t have anything against him, but I can’t stand his arrogance and egocentrism. Everything has to revolve around him or can go to hell,” I said looking at the cars going on the street. “But I think this isn’t bad idea. At least he’ll have better bike than this old Zombie.”

“Don’t tell Billy,” Johnny said standing from the stairs.

You mistook me with Brian, Jonathan,” I said with a smile.

Johnny was looking at the ice cubes melting slowly on the bottom of the glass. He drunk whisky already, so all he had was empty glass. He could go inside and got another shot, but he wanted to stay here with us. We were just enjoying the silence and peace of this very moment. This beautiful piece of time was broken by Slamvan breaking in front of the clubhouse. It was black with white tribal marks on the hood, side panels and rear doors and it belonged to Terrence Thorpe – our sergeant in arms. He was selling weapons coming from gang fights from his van and he was talking care of our weapons. Other brothers that drove with him were Clayton Simmons – Road Captain and James Fitzgerald – treasurer of the club.

“What’s going on?” Terry asked closing the door of the van.

“Billy is having a meeting with some important Russian in our clubhouse. And I got some job for you Terry,” Johnny said pulling gun from his pocket.

“Let me guess. Another weapon cleaning. Who did you kill this time, Jonathan?” Terry asked with a little smile on his unshaved face.

“We were involved in some heavy fight with deadbeats,” Johnny explained.

“Okay. Just give me your weapons and take care of this,” he said and received Johnny’s sawn-off, Angus’ pistol and pistol that I had in my pocket since the shootout and also belonged to Johnny.

During weapon cleaning Terry was changing barrels and firing pins. Of course every weapon was also cleaned from every trace of powder. After these operations cops couldn’t tie us to any murder committed by us. And without proof we were clean. That was the reason why we were using simple constructed weapons like sawn-offs or pistols. Of course we could use some super turbo hyper mega f*cking gun, but who would clean that.

“How about some whisky?” Clay asked.

“Sure. Let’s go inside,” Johnny said still holding empty glass in his hand. Ice melted completely and only few water drops lied on the bottom.

We went inside where Johnny, Clay and Terry went to the bar to order some drinks. Russians were still standing where we left them, ordering sixth or seventh round of vodka. We sat on little couches by the wall.

“What do you think of the recent events?” I asked.

“I don’t know Ralph,” Angus answered. “Everything is getting crazier, we’re losing brothers. Mike, Bear, Tommy’s in the hospital and we can’t find his brother. Now those Russians. I don’t want to play Cassandra in this play, but I think we’re on the empty highway to hell and we’re speeding like f*cks.”

That was the reason I liked Angus. You could ask him about time and receive lecture from Hawking’s book. This guy just loved philosophy and he probably would be working at the university if he hadn’t been in the motorcycle gang. Angus was born in Liberty City, but his grandfather was born in Sweden. He came to USA to find a better life. Like we all.

“Yeah man, but one thing is puzzling me. We are brothers, but it seems like we’re speaking different languages like in f*cking Babel tower. I don’t get it. Yesterday the Russians were shooting at us, today they were shooting with us. At least one thing is still normal. I still have you guys as my brothers.”

“As long as we stay together everything will be all right,” Angus said and smiled.

“I heard something like that today. Tommy said that when we were in Russians’ car. He also said that we have to find his brother. I wonder what this means.”

“You mean that he is a rat?”

“I don’t think so, but in fact he never acted so strange. Maybe he is snitching. He was supposed to have meeting with those Russians, but he didn’t show up there,” I said looking at the dirty wooden floor, where termites were making another way in their city placed right under floorboard in our club.

“Do you know what this meeting is about?” Jim finally said something and showed celling with a gesture of his head.

“This drugs we stole few days back, probably,” I answered. “We can have serious trouble.”

Jim didn’t say anything and he was still looking at mean looking Russians standing by the bar. Girl got tired of the dancing and left the cage. More brothers were looking at her tits than dance anyway. She came to the bar and stood next to Johnny, but he took his glass and came to us.

“How long this meeting gonna take?” He asked sitting next to Angus.

“They need to discuss our future. Billy is pimping us to those Russians,” Angus said with bitter smile on his face.

Yuri and Billy finally appeared in the doors. They stood in the middle of the room and Billy started his speech:

“As many of you know those people here are the Russians working for Mr. Petrovic. Cocaine that we stole was belonging to him and he wants it back”, he said looking at me and Johnny, because we were stealing the coke. “We will be working for them now to pay our debt to Mr. Petrovic. That’s all for now.”

He ended and walked to the bar. Yuri gathered his men, barely walking after pouring all this vodka inside them and they left our building. The door closed behind them with loud screeching noise. Johnny stood up, came to Billy sitting on the stool and said:

“Are you sure that you want to work with the Russians? They helped us today, they killed deadbeats and took Tommy to the hospital, but I don’t know if we can trust them. They attacked us on the funeral yesterday.”

“I am the leader Johnny, not you. I will worry if something will go wrong. I said that we have to work with the Russians. And we have to, because of you”, Billy said pointing his finger on me.

“What Ralph has to do with this?” Johnny stood in my defense. “You wanted to work with Ray Boccino. I was saying that was bad idea, but you wanted to work for someone important.”

“It wasn’t bad Billy, but we are in serious trouble, because of you,” Johnny said calming his voice in one second.

“Okay,” Billy agreed. “I f*cked up. You wanted to hear this? Here you go. I’m sorry, okay? But we need to get out of this trouble as a brotherhood. We will fight and we’ll win. We okay now?”

“Yeah, but we have to do something with those Russians,” Johnny said and sat on the bench causing a loud hissing sound when air came from the old seat. I don’t have strength for this.”

Billy rinsed his throat with another glass of whisky and started his second speech:

“Okay brothers. There is one more thing I want to say. Our brother Bear was very good biker and very good brother. He was someone I always wanted to be. He was always ready to help brothers in need. He was lawbreaker and hell raiser. But first of all he was member of our family. Benny Ernest lost, but not forgotten,” he said and he raised his glass of whisky.

“Amen,” other people yelled and raised their pints, glasses and bottles.

Maverick24

If anyone wants to write for a gang: write for that gang! But first, find an unused property to claim as your own turf and base your story from there.

Landstalker, that property is unused so you are fine to take it on. I would suggest you jump to it though, things happen fast around here!!AK 47 Hitman, Tycek currently holds that property so you are unable to claim it for yourself. He's active too, having only posted two posts above your own. Find somewhere else to use and we would be happy to see you join in.

AK 47 Hitman, M.O.B at the Firefly Projects is fine!

On another note: I'm not dead. I've just been through exams so my average rate of about 10 stories per day has been somewhat reduced. If someone would like to provide feedback on the first part of the new storyline, I have another two in the pipeline and am keen to get back into this!

Build Up Your Gang

So, apparently it's been about another month between drinks reviews... eh-heh.

Maverick24Irish Mob | Lucky Winkles Bar | Act II - Chapter 6 - The Fire and the Fury$48 + $1,967 = $2,015In reading this, Staff realised how far behind with my reading he'd gotten. The last chapter Staff reviewed was Chapter 1 of Act II!!!...Okay, now I'm caught-up. Wow. Staff likes that Chapter six is chapter five but from Aodhan's perspective. Really nice touch.Got a little lost with all the street directions, and who was doing what when. Some of that could have been lost, really. I mean, Staff knows if he took the time to map it, he'd have the entire chase storyboarded in no time. But no reader is ever going to do that.Still, your descriptions of the action are so f*cking visceral, Staff can't help but feel part of the action, and Aodhan's lingering concern he would become the alternate body in a plastic bag floating down the Humbolt.And, as always, you've managed to turn a really simple piece of action into a lengthy chapter. A little too much description, perhaps, but a worthy chapter to add to your collection.

Irish Mob | Lucky Winkles Bar | Act II - Chapter 7 - When the Thunder Rolls$49 + $2,015 = $2,064One would have preferred the second and first paragraphs to swap. Start with screeching of tires, and then observations about neo-liberal policy and the abandoned Acter (which, incidentally, could have been a little punchier). But, Staff did love the phrase: " aloft from the giant sucking sound of the collapse of industry beneath them " And another: " The Fox had shared no sympathy, putting two rounds in the man's lifeless chest: a mortal guarantee of a completed job. " Niiice expression. However, this paragraph is perhaps not marked clearly enough as a brief flashback and had me wondering how Aodhan was driving when he's just seen... wha?And, the conclusion to this Act, the stormy skies, the thunderous cacophony, the industrial wasteland, the shadowy figure in the distance... it almost turns cliche-ish. But, you manage to avoid the Hitchcock-ish climb up the cooling towers, the climactic fight at the top... instead, a simple single shot to the chest after some (understandably) callous words from Sean.And, the final words, mate, perfect. A real counter-balance to the warm, friendly atmosphere of your opening chapter. Bravo! And, again, I say Bravo!

Just a few thoughts on the entire series, that you've asked for: Staff liked. You manage to squeeze so much into a single chapter and yet it's, like, a chase scene and that's all. You wring a bucketload of content from a short clip of the action, and this staff member, for one, greatly appreciates that. Secondly, your writing lacks almost any grammatical or spelling issues, which makes it easily readable, which it is from your whole writing style. You're a far better writer than Staff, one is happy to report, so although the content is VAST (many, many thousands of words), it is actually a pleasure to read.The characters and storyline, of course, are what make this two-act series engaging. From very first chapter, Staff liked this Aodhan character, a scrappy, wirey, little ginger-haired mutt from the wrong side of Liberty City. One pictures him looking like the neo-punks that dot northern Algonquin, albeit a little shorter.Yet you've also managed to weave so many other interesting characters, game-known and not, into the story, rendering them so detailed that they're easily believable as actual people. The overarching story, too, for all the high praise, is actually reallysimple. Not that much happens. It all revolves around a bunch of characters in a predicament. The whole second act is essentially about the triads attack and Aodhan having to kill Sean and Liam. That's it. But this is not a bad thing: it's actually really good news, because it means for the 12,000 words or so, you've made a really long and engaging story based almost entirely on a handful of interesting characters and the sh*t they talk about. That's admirable, my friend.

Still, Staff doesn't want to appear TOO effusive. While, at an estimated 24,000-ish words in total, you've got a novella, unfortunately for us, one fears BUYG is not a format that would easily translate into books. Staff doesn't honestly know since he reads all-but-none, but the action-packed bite-sized chapters, one thinks, would have to be re-written for publishable format. Secondly, Staff thinks it would also require a fair amount of editing. Aside from forgiveable minor stuff, your work could also do with some tightening-up. One has a sense that you're writing these pretty much in one go with a couple of read-throughs. (Wrong?) No big deal, but Staff thinks published standards might be higher than BUYG's. Of course, that is to dare to dream, but Staff certainly wouldn't discourage you from seeking out short-story writing sites/magazines. Then again, if publishing is of no interest, that this was only written for your amusement and our own, this has been an enjoyable ride for which Staff thanks you and flags interest in your new venture.

Doth that provide what Maverick sought in an overall review? Staff, or indeed Aragond, would be happy to answer against more specific criteria.

The Pavano Family | Auto Eroticar | Act 1 - Chapter 1 - The Nevada Cooperative$42 + $659 = $701Ahhh, now, what are you doing here? This is currently occupied by Kinko Kabuki Koshi KaPOW~!... who last posted a story there... hmm, May 27th... 2009. Yeah, alright, point taken. Kinko, you've been removed. We haven't heard from you since July 17th, so Staff thinks it's fair.But, one wonders what made you so confident Staff would say this, Mr Mav'?.... Anyhoo ....Emilio and Mario. May have paid to have two guys with two more-different names. Not that one got confused, as such, but... it would have paid. Staff likes that the Sindaccos have involvement, and that Emilio has a well-considered plan for cross country drug shipments. That said, it seemed a little unrealistic that Mario would wait a month for his payment (or is one misreading their code?), or is payment in advance of the next shipment a few days later? (Tho', Emilio doesn't seem to have any money on him to pay for this one coming?)And yet despite the interesting introduction, Staff is unable to find these characters as interesting or endearing as your previous victorious work. Emilio's eruption at the drinking session seemed a little out of place, the groundwork not laid enough, and the affront to the Senator in calling them rednecks... eeehhh, not so sure that seemed legit'... realistic for the character. And the Senator's bulbous pontifications about running the state seemed a little... worn.Still, it is early days, and Staff eagarly awaits further chapters to perhaps open-up these characters and all that will go wrong with these shipments.

SanjeemThe Gambetti Family | Al Dente's | Chapter 4: Every-dog has his day$33 + $1,882 = $1,915You like the movie Scarface, amiright? " cofee " = needs more spellchecker."Where, where is he""Getting in that Black sentinel, lets see where he goes now""Probably to his factory, he still owns it" = needs more full-stops at the end of a sentence but-before-the-final-quote-since-there's-no-"he said"-after-it!" that was what i was taught " = needs more capitalisation of "I"" wern't " = needs more spellchecker." paulie " = needs more capitalisation of people's names." though. we followed in " = needs more capitalisation after a full-stop." squint of a sound " = uh ... no. Your eyes squint; sound don't.Etc...And, finally, probably needs more cowbell. (Look it up.) Some fairly basic spelling and grammatical mistakes. These WILL keep you from higher ratings.Still, they don't completely detract from an otherwise simple and reasonable, if not a little gruesome, story.By the way, Staff doesn't get how you've calculated you've got four stories? He counts two chapter ones (this n this) and now this one, innit?

Kaizer ChiefAlbanian Mob | Deli Grocery Tobacco Shop | #1: Prologue$31 + $57 = $88This isn't bad as an introduction, especially the second sentence, a quite worthy introduction! I'm a little uncomfortable with Niko being your enemy, though, since the BUYG rules (such as they are) say you should really only have the major characters from the game as minor characters in your stories. So, you taking an unnamed Albanian as your protagonist is a nice move. Making Niko his arch-nemesis.... ehhh, tread carefully.Staff knows you explain all the killings of various leaders in the gang, but he's not convinced your narrator has successfully explained why he deserved to be the Albanians new boss. Plus, how would your guy know Dardan was killed by Niko -- he's in a hospital bed, isn't he? I'm not seeking you to explain yourself, just weave whatever facts Staff might be missing into your future stories.Finally, as a story, is it only a prologue. There was little substance, just a brief overview of facts. That's not all bad, but one hopes it is not indicative of what's to come.

TycekThe Lost | The Lost Clubhouse | Chapter Eight Soviet Union$38 + $1,031 = $1,079Two thousand, six hundred and eighteen words. TWO THOUSAND, SIX HUNDRED.... 2,618 word! Alright, yes, Staff admits, your humble reviewer, as a writer, has trumped that twice. But STILL!Interesting first paragraph, actually. You lay the groundwork of the gang like it was your first story. But, it then goes on for another FIVE paragraphs before anything happens. Dude. Introductions are good, but ... did it really need to go on so long? You ought to try conveying the same facts within the context of dialogue or brief observations in between dialogue by your protagonist as he tilts back another beer/whiskey or whatever. Otherwise, 700 words of dense description just becomes too much to read through, losing your whole story's appeal.Don't get me wrong, there is some good gems in there ( Maybe, if you are considering drug trips as adventures and fighting with other crazy f*ckheads as excitement. and Love wasn't only thing in the air, there were always strong smells of weed, crystal meth, cheapest cigs, lousy piss poor drinks and of course anger. ), but the whole thing would have been better served with some tightening-up, in this Staff's opinion.The sentence " Some people were saying she was a daughter of Congressman Butler, but that was unconfirmed information " could also be more appropriately worded for a rough-as-guts biker. He's no sophisticated type, is he? (One could be misreading your characters, of course.) Perhaps: " Some said she was the spawn of some bullsh*t politician. No one knew. No one cared. They all came from rich daddys one way or another. " Just a thought.Now, " ???? " (uh, even my editor can't handle it.) Don't put Russian in an english story unless it, as in those specific characters, is particularly relevant to the story. (Like "Hey, Gerry, isn't that the word that has the backward 'N' and little 'b' we saw on that container ship?" or somesuch.) Instead, always write it as your protagonist would hear it -- "pit!" -- especially when writing a first person story. 'Cuz unless he speaks Russian, he heard "Pit".Likewise the next time, which, incidentally, should be something more like:"Ostava'ite zdes," Yuri commanded, and his men stayed behind as he followed Billy upstairs.Why? You are writing from your protagonist's point of view; he doesn't KNOW that Ostava'ite zdes means "stay here" and so would not be translating it to "Yuri gave his men order to stay". Always, always, ALWAYS, when writing a first-person story, think in terms of what the protagonist is seeing, hearing, feeling, and recognising. Put yourself, when writing, firmly into his shoes. He hears Yuri say some bullsh!t in Russian, he sees some men stay, and that's what he observes. Don't go making that logical leap about things ONLY an omnipotent narrator, who happens to know Russian -- like you -- would know. Afterall, he doesn't KNOW Yuri's words don't translate to "Kill them when I give the signal."D'ya feel me?It's not a bad story. There is still a lot of grammatical issues in there to watch out for. And, Staff thinks it could have done with some self-editting to reduce the length, especially the intro'. Maybe Staff-as-writer aint one to talk, but one just thinks it could have been tightened-up some.

Tycek

Thanks for the cash. I'm still improving my language to make it better and more juicy. I won't be using russian words anymore especially written in cyrilic. and I'll try to reduce the lenght of my stories, especially the introductions.

I am Yu Wi and I am going to be in the Traids if I can pass their initiation- shoot and kill three non- Traid members. The current Traid leader, Hsin Jaoming, gave me everything I need to pass the initiation a Micro-SMG, a Knife, and a purple Traid Feroci. I have chosen to kill three Spanish Lord members. I then got into the purple Traid Feroci, and sped off to the Spanish Lords territory, The Sprunk Factory in Bohan. I smashed one of my car windows and luckily there was three members of the Spanish Lords outside and took all three of them down in a drive-by.

"You're gonna die a**hole!" A Spanish Lord shouted as he and another member sped up to me shooting at me with a pistol.

"F*ck off!" I shouted as I killed the driver with my Micro-SMG, who them sped out of control and crashed into a wooden telephone pole. I then drove back to the Sum Yung Gai resteraunt.

"I have killed three members of the Spanish Lords." I said to the current Traid leader, Hsin Jaoming.

"Good Yu Wi, you are now in the Liberty City Traids. Well done!" Hsin said to me proudly.

"Thank you, Hsin." I said with gratitdude to our leader.

"Don't leave just yet. I have another job for you!" Hsin said.

"What is it?" I said calmly.

"I need you to kill a North Holland Hustler with the knife I gave you." Hsin said to me.

"Sure, I will do it." I quickly got into the purple Traid Feroci and sped off to one of the North Holland Hustler's hideouts, the Triangle Club. I went into the Triangle Club, and right away I knew which person was a gang member and who was not by hearing the way they speak. I heard things like 'North Holland Hustlers for life!" I went up calmly to all three gang member and slit their throats in rapid succession. I ran out of there and sped back to Sum Yung Gai, and reported to Hsin Jaoming.

"I killed not one North Holland Hustler, but three all in about 5 seconds." I said to Hsin.

Phone Number

Also it seems assets aren't used, even though they have potential. Here's something very short.

---

THE ALBANIAN MOB

Epilogue: What Happens

The black night; why people desire to have the warm rays of the sun in their eyes and on their skin. Their life darkened and only the bright, fiery sun would heat up their dreary spirits. Nothing could darken on a day like this than how it already is. A blank figure stood in the middle of a paved street, staring off into the starred sky. Exhausted and bitter, a cold pistol in his hand; his clothes bloodied and his face stern and scowling.

Just as he stared off into space, a vehicle pulled up in front of him, its brightening headlights strongly piercing his grim and bloodshot eyes. The tired man quickly curtained his eyes with his arm and shut his lids and grimaced as the white, strong headlights continued to sting his bagged eyes. A voice rung through his head. He remembered something; at least something. Valon Topali was back inside his world, with the simple mumbling of words that brought it back. He only wanted to glance back on the life before everything happened.

But a shadowed man ominously exited the headlighted vehicle that sat in front of him, and he could see a gun being brandished from the man's inner coat. “Valon?” one voice spoke behind him.

Build Up Your Gang

Sorry to do this to you, AK, but could you erase your story from where it is and post it into the post I am quoting, just so it's after the ratings and the next staff member will know to it hasn't yet been rated. Otherwise you risk not having it rated.Thanx.

@ Phone Number (do what now? They allow all manner of strange usernames in here )"Very short" aint the half of it. Please, if you want that introduction to be taken seriously, it must be at least 600 words. Staff means it, 211 words is simply ridiculously too short and won't be rated.

And, no, assets aren't used here. There's no good reason for that except that they were never really set-up. Drugs are permitted, but rarely used. I guess things, maybe a while ago, got too nutty on BUYG-original that they decided to give them a miss.

Heck, we don't even have the Ancelottis as a gang yet. (cue ... Osric!)

Maverick24

Aragond... I mean Staff! Thanks for the detailed and in-depth feedback. It is greatly appreciated. I will respond in full and, if I may, provide my own commentary on my work where I may to hopefully offer a bit more insight incase anyone is interested.

Wow. Staff likes that Chapter six is chapter five but from Aodhan's perspective. Really nice touch.Got a little lost with all the street directions, and who was doing what when. Some of that could have been lost, really. I mean, Staff knows if he took the time to map it, he'd have the entire chase storyboarded in no time. But no reader is ever going to do that.Still, your descriptions of the action are so f*cking visceral, Staff can't help but feel part of the action, and Aodhan's lingering concern he would become the alternate body in a plastic bag floating down the Humbolt.And, as always, you've managed to turn a really simple piece of action into a lengthy chapter. A little too much description, perhaps, but a worthy chapter to add to your collection.

I was divided as to do this piece as it replicated the previous story and, while doing it, had a desire to try and keep the cross-over short and concise. I found myself unable, however, to put a lid on the description and I think that this chapter, as a stand-alone item, came not out of intent but by accident.Re-reading the chapter now, some month-and-a-half after posting it, the streetname and direction overload seems far too heavy. I guarantee the route works, that every corner is correct and, incase you didn't notice, the concluding scene is set at a hole in the crash-barrier where a stunt jump is located. I'm glad you liked this one. I realised that the quality was more-or-less consistent with previous pieces but was concerned that duplication of storyline and overall lack of fresh content might bring it down.

QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Jun 19 2010, 07:05)

Irish Mob | Lucky Winkles Bar | Act II - Chapter 7 - When the Thunder Rolls$49 + $2,015 = $2,064One would have preferred the second and first paragraphs to swap. Start with screeching of tires, and then observations about neo-liberal policy and the abandoned Acter (which, incidentally, could have been a little punchier). But, Staff did love the phrase: " aloft from the giant sucking sound of the collapse of industry beneath them "

The social commentary at the beginning is something I have tried to slip into this collection of stories in various ways, mostly as just a means to flesh-out the backdrop of Liberty City. I'm not sure if it works as a strong narrative technique, but its enjoyable to write as its a chance to think outside of the box with regards to the writing. I attempted some amateurish narrative links between social commentaries and the context of each story:

Act I: Chapter 7 introductory paragraph - Creates an environment of sin and underclass, fitting to the story of weapons dealing and ethnic gangs. Also, perhaps, my favourite paragraph from the entire series.

Act II: Chapter 1, paragraph near the bottom on the hospital staff - I attempted to characterise the hospital, a place of life-saving, just before describing a scene of mass murder and death.

ACt II: Chapter 7 introduction - this pre-empts a horrible scene with a direct parallel to a pained image of society: people clambering over one-another to reach the top, always leaving suffering behind. I hopefully, and discretely, bridged a link between crime and neoliberalism too. And finishing this introduction was the idea of loneliness and abandonment: two issues that characterise Aodhan's actions.

QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Jun 19 2010, 07:05)

And another: " The Fox had shared no sympathy, putting two rounds in the man's lifeless chest: a mortal guarantee of a completed job. " Niiice expression. However, this paragraph is perhaps not marked clearly enough as a brief flashback and had me wondering how Aodhan was driving when he's just seen... wha?And, the conclusion to this Act, the stormy skies, the thunderous cacophony, the industrial wasteland, the shadowy figure in the distance... it almost turns cliche-ish. But, you manage to avoid the Hitchcock-ish climb up the cooling towers, the climactic fight at the top... instead, a simple single shot to the chest after some (understandably) callous words from Sean.

Hitchcock was certainly not my foremost thought while writing this, but its pleasing to see I'm getting such a response, however unintended.I didn't want to finish on a action-packed hollywood ending. Keeping it simple has been a key to all my writing so far. The worse parts of GTA IV are when it goes entirely over-the-top; there's a believability to Liberty City like no other game I've played and that is what encourages me to write fan-fiction for this game above all.

Thankyou! I had hoped this ending would be recognised in this manner! It's the pivot point for Aodhan's transition from nice-guy working with a mob-guy, to a murderer and someone who betrayed his friends. I had set up the weather, the location, the entire atmosphere to be as dark as possible: contrasting the loneliness with his friendlier moments in Act I, Chapters 1 and 4, when Michael, Seán and Liam all lived. This contrast is something I hoped to manage across both Acts, with Act II generally a lot darker in atmosphere than Act I, even though it ironically started with a party.

QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Jun 19 2010, 07:05)

Just a few thoughts on the entire series, that you've asked for: Staff liked. You manage to squeeze so much into a single chapter and yet it's, like, a chase scene and that's all. You wring a bucketload of content from a short clip of the action, and this staff member, for one, greatly appreciates that.

Thank you again. I'm a firm believer that in good drama, nothing much happens!

QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Jun 19 2010, 07:05)

Secondly, your writing lacks almost any grammatical or spelling issues, which makes it easily readable, which it is from your whole writing style.

It has improved vastly through just doing this. I haven't wrote properly in a few years. I've just finished an engineering degree and typically writing in that context consists of little more than annotating maths. Amongst my fellow alumni, those who can spell to a moderate level are few and far between, never mind being able to put together 20,000+ words of narrative.I seriously would recommend to anyone with even a slight interest in writing to find something like this and give it a go. Subjecting your writing to the analysis of strangers and the internet at large is a brilliant way to get a conscientious minded writer to iron out most of their flaws.

QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Jun 19 2010, 07:05)

You're a far better writer than Staff, one is happy to report, so although the content is VAST (many, many thousands of words), it is actually a pleasure to read.

I do not have the capacity to manage a storyline as complex as you are doing now. The shear number of characters and events that you regularly reference makes your own writing particularly enthralling. Thank you for the compliment, but you can take it back !

QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Jun 19 2010, 07:05)

The characters and storyline, of course, are what make this two-act series engaging. From very first chapter, Staff liked this Aodhan character, a scrappy, wirey, little ginger-haired mutt from the wrong side of Liberty City. One pictures him looking like the neo-punks that dot northern Algonquin, albeit a little shorter.

I aimed to create a protagonist that was associable to readers in a way that most GTA characters can't be: he's not an adult. I never stated an age, but regularly generalised Aodhan as a 'kid'. With their content, we all understand there is no way a GTA game could have you play a teenager as the lead character. But with Aodhan, the reader has an opportunity to place an age to him that is beyond the scope of the games. Aodhan also allows me to apply characteristics of vulnerability, feebleness and innocence that also do not suit the world of GTA, then strip them away as he develops through the narrative. He's also an immigrant or an outsider: an important connection to most GTA protagonists except for Johnny and Luis.

QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Jun 19 2010, 07:05)

Yet you've also managed to weave so many other interesting characters, game-known and not, into the story, rendering them so detailed that they're easily believable as actual people. The overarching story, too, for all the high praise, is actually reallysimple. Not that much happens. It all revolves around a bunch of characters in a predicament. The whole second act is essentially about the triads attack and Aodhan having to kill Sean and Liam. That's it. But this is not a bad thing: it's actually really good news, because it means for the 12,000 words or so, you've made a really long and engaging story based almost entirely on a handful of interesting characters and the sh*t they talk about. That's admirable, my friend.

If I may go off on one again here. There is one narrative that underlies everything, and underpins the ideas. Much of this story is allegorically linked to Of Mice and Men. If its not obvious: Seán is George and Liam is Lenny. I even called the Chapter that introduced them after the book. I made extra explicit references to this link in Act II: Chapter 4, where Seán and Liam speak some of lines from the introduction to Of Mice and Men while talking in the hospital:

QUOTE

Liam paused for a moment, cautious not to annoy Seán further. "I like beans with ketchup."

"Whatever we ain't got, that's what you want. God a'mighty, if I was alone I could live so easy. I could go get a job an' work, an' no trouble. No mess at all."

They are immigrants (outsiders) who have a dark and unknown past (on the run), and settle down in inauspicious jobs as dock-hands. Aodhan has no particular comparative to Of Mice and Men, but the story is only allegorical and not a literal copy! Their trouble comes though Aodhan's temptation to gangs, not Liam's temptation to women, but Liam's 'buffoonery' (as you wonderfully put it) causes death and sets about their destruction.Aodhan goes to kill Liam on Packie's orders, as Curly's men do to Lenny. I contrasted Packie's temper with Curly's early on: their characters share many similarities. A chase results and Seán, with nowhere left to run, kills Liam in compassion.SOPRANOS SPOILER WARNING Seán kills Liam with allusions to the manner in which Tony kills Chris MoltisantiOf Mice and Men has many themes on empowerment, or lack thereof. Characters are capable of more than their social status allows them and seek, in different ways, to empower themselves. George and Lenny rely on each other, as do Seán and Liam. Aodhan sees crime as his means to empower himself but, as Seán points out at the conclusion, he ends up as little more than a "Hound, runnin' for your master": one of Curly's men or, worse, an allusion to Candy's dog who is killed by another ranch worked with little sympathy. That ranch worker, being Carlson, is emobidied as The Fox: "thick-bodied" and attractive. He also has a Luger that George steals to kill Lenny with. The Fox's weapon is found beside Seán when Aodhan kills him, however it was not used to kill Liam.

QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Jun 19 2010, 07:05)

Still, Staff doesn't want to appear TOO effusive. While, at an estimated 24,000-ish words in total, you've got a novella, unfortunately for us, one fears BUYG is not a format that would easily translate into books. Staff doesn't honestly know since he reads all-but-none, but the action-packed bite-sized chapters, one thinks, would have to be re-written for publishable format. Secondly, Staff thinks it would also require a fair amount of editing. Aside from forgiveable minor stuff, your work could also do with some tightening-up. One has a sense that you're writing these pretty much in one go with a couple of read-throughs. (Wrong?) No big deal, but Staff thinks published standards might be higher than BUYG's. Of course, that is to dare to dream, but Staff certainly wouldn't discourage you from seeking out short-story writing sites/magazines. Then again, if publishing is of no interest, that this was only written for your amusement and our own, this has been an enjoyable ride for which Staff thanks you and flags interest in your new venture.

I do not know how to respond this. I had never even considered the possibility of any type of publishing. I was simply enjoying writing. Thanks entirely for the recognition. I may come back to this point when I have had chance to digest it fully.

QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Jun 19 2010, 07:05)

The Pavano Family | Auto Eroticar | Act 1 - Chapter 1 - The Nevada Cooperative$42 + $659 = $701Ahhh, now, what are you doing here? This is currently occupied by Kinko Kabuki Koshi KaPOW~!... who last posted a story there... hmm, May 27th... 2009. Yeah, alright, point taken. Kinko, you've been removed. We haven't heard from you since July 17th, so Staff thinks it's fair.But, one wonders what made you so confident Staff would say this, Mr Mav'?

Theres a reason I didn't post any more... a break away from my typical multiple posts incase there wasn't an agreement on this matter.

QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Jun 19 2010, 07:05)

.... Anyhoo ....Emilio and Mario. May have paid to have two guys with two more-different names.

The wonderful irony of that will become clear soon.

QUOTE (Build Up Your Gang @ Jun 19 2010, 07:05)

Not that one got confused, as such, but... it would have paid. Staff likes that the Sindaccos have involvement, and that Emilio has a well-considered plan for cross country drug shipments. That said, it seemed a little unrealistic that Mario would wait a month for his payment (or is one misreading their code?), or is payment in advance of the next shipment a few days later? (Tho', Emilio doesn't seem to have any money on him to pay for this one coming?)And yet despite the interesting introduction, Staff is unable to find these characters as interesting or endearing as your previous victorious work. Emilio's eruption at the drinking session seemed a little out of place, the groundwork not laid enough, and the affront to the Senator in calling them rednecks... eeehhh, not so sure that seemed legit'... realistic for the character. And the Senator's bulbous pontifications about running the state seemed a little... worn.Still, it is early days, and Staff eagarly awaits further chapters to perhaps open-up these characters and all that will go wrong with these shipments.

This chapter is purely introductory. I know it lacks in characterisation, and misses some of the flair that I employed in the intro to the Irish Mob stories. However, I intend to make this a far more expansive story, dealing with issues on a gang scale as opposed to individual levels. Something different, one could say, and hopefully, therefore, a fresh challenge.

Phone Number

The humming of the Badger cellphone brung Valon Topali to swipe it off the small, kitchen table. A blaring ring sunk into the left side of his face toward his ear, letting the ring pull along until a voice came abrupt and spoke, a very familiar accent to Valon’s numbing conscious.

“Val’, I need you to come meet me around the back of the old Burger Shot on Huntington Street. Some things have come up.” As soon as Valon answered the phone he just had been finished with it when he heard the dragging beep on the other line. He scratched his irritating, bagged eyelids with his bare knuckles, trying to get the sleepiness forever out of his eyes. It was an early morning and Valon was in full garments contained of a leather jacket over a black and red tracksuit outfit, and a pair of runners. He grabbed the foam cup of water also on the kitchen table and chugged it down, sighing and brushing his black and slight receding hair with one of his hands before walking out of his apartment complex on Carson St.

He sniveled and coughed hoarsely, the mucus spewing from the inside of his mouth and rocketing through the air. The medium-built thug grubbed through his stubble facial hair with his gloved hands and latched it around the handle of his Futo. The pink-lit clouds hovered over the buildings and citizens of Liberty City, a rather chilly morning to start the day off with. Valon’s Futo rumbled to life as he locked in his keys, quickly stomping one foot on the gas pedal. He forwarded his way below the Huntington Street Station, nearing an abandon, run-down and boarded up Burger Shot, parking neatly near the curb.

Valon eyed around his surroundings, quickly spotting Gazmend’s Manana parked in a sandy fenced in space right behind the building. As Valon stepped out of his vehicle and clipped the door shut, he found Gazmend Nicolla across from him leaned against a wall in an open alleyway between the Burger Shot and another building. Valon squinted quizzically, before strutting across the plain, slumping his downcast face toward the ground. He finally approached Gazmend successfully, a burly, paunchy, taciturn man in leather gloves, with a large jacket over a double-breasted coat and slacks.

Gazmend Nicolla shifted his head sideways between the alleway, before reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a cigarette and lighter. He popped in the rolled substance in his mouth and leaned his head toward the gear-driven mechanism, the flame touching the tip of it.“Come on, we need to go for nice walk,” He uttered through bared teeth and bellowing smoke. Soon, they started to walk down the alley; two backings of the buildings on each side, each having rear entrances. Gazmend began the lonely converse with a grueling and gruff voice.

“ How is your sister? Is she doing alright?” Rather unexpected to hear of, Topali lunged for casual words about the circumstances with his troubled sister. He spoke out with a mildly thick European accent.

“Blerta is okay. She is doing well with a man who doesn’t have a job and is the bastard of her baby.” Valon’s sister, Blerta, was a reason he even thought about coming to America. Blerta had fell madly, but stupidly, in love with the man of her wonderful dreams. Story made short, she became impregnated after quite some time in the relationship. Both not capable of holding a good job due to both not graduating high school, they were living on welfare and lent money. Firstly, Valon was not interested into his sister’s troubles as she had brought it on herself, but the content of the trouble the struggling couple came into with criminals lead Valon to leave his dumpy hideout in Italy and travel to Liberty City to hopefully help them, risking his life as he was a targeted man in the underground world of Albania. 2 and half years with his stay in America and aiding his hopeless sister.

31-year old Valon Topali then turned to questioning Gazmend on his true intention.“So, Gaz, what is it that you need to speak of?” Gazmend let the black and dirty smoke play wildly in his mouth and lungs, before solemnly answering.

“Bledar and Kemal are dead, Valon.” Valon continued to walk despite his heart being caught by surprised. He studied Gazmend’s stern and cold face, trying to quickly fix himself out of this abnormal blast of words. Valon later replied after moments of ponder.

“You are... kidding, right? Those two, dead?”

“And Dardan, who is believed to be missing.” Valon slowly came to realization and quietly pinched the skin on the bridge of his nose, shaking his head softly. He knew the abruptness and spontaneity that came in the crime-infested underground dwelling, but the stakes that have been trusted in these three men were too much to take lightly of. Now there is only speculation, confusion, and questioning over the matter.

“Who? Who killed them, Gaz?”

“ We do not know, and that is the problem here. Now that they are dead, we lost all the money we could of ended up with.” He shortly took a drag out of the cigarette before exhaling the toxic fume

“ I don’t get it. Don’t we know the man Dardan and Bledar loaned to? Didn’t they inform us?”

“I’m afraid not. Those two only talked subtle of it. You knew when Xianni lent them their powers to shark alone but organized. With them all dead, there’s no hope of getting the money.”

“All that money,” Valon shook his head dearly. He scowled to the ground as he and the mob lieutenant reached the end of the alley where they stopped. Gaz turned to Valon.“Listen, Xianni wants you and Loran to collect in on the loan off a client of Fatmir’s. Go over behind the old hardware store on Dillon Street and meet up with them. Call me however you can and bring in the cash to Fatmir at the 69th street diner.”

“Heh. I thought this was Fatmir’s job, not mine?”

“Fatmir is too busy doing something for me. We are all very busy with our lives here, Valon. I will see you.”

As Gazmend Nicolla departed on his way back to his Manana, Valon stood there with his hands glued in his pockets as he looked out into the street. He sighed exasperatedly and soon walked back to his Futo to go take a nap back at his apartment. Maybe he’ll check on Blerta on the way.

That’s one hell of a cast list. Wow. Totally baffling! Even at a staggering 2,667 words (!) there’s a density of characters here like nothing I’ve seen or read before. Let’s come up with a new means of reviewing stories: character density. Aragond sets the bar at 92 words/character. Anyone who can better that gets a bonus $100. Entries under 2000 words will not be accepted. On a more serious tone, this piece is fantastic. I highlight the quantity of characters not out of jokiness, but in serious respect that you manage such a compact amount of characters in such an adept manner. While there are a lot of people involved, the dialogue is thankfully constrained to a small number of topics and, as people enter, their positions are made clear by well written acknowledgement of seniority and characterisation. There is little action, bar those arriving, which makes involvement in the dialogue all the more accessible. This piece also brings in a lot of past action, through reference, from previous episodes in your storyline. Staff appears to have suffered amnesia (having been sure he had reviewed all your previous work) but was firmly encouraged to make a detailed read of your entire back-catalogue following this piece.Finishing this chapter (and this episode) with a sinister scene in a second hand car garage between the shady Pavano mobsters planning their revenge against your own crew is a fantastic way to end this. The amount of conflict that exists within these gangs is fabulous. You’ve genuinely created a brilliant tapestry of tense anticipation. I can’t wait to see how this unfolds, even though I know that I will have to wait.

Congratulations. Top marks.

AK 47 HitmanTriads | Yum Sung Gai | Prologue $20 + $263 = $283This piece falls short on many levels. First, and foremost, it’s too short. Lots of starters here seem to think that writing a prologue is a good way to get going. Typically these tend around the 200-400 word count and, while varying wildly in quality, are nearly always too short. 381 words is just this. Aim for 600, and then build up from there. If 600 is too much for a prologue: don’t write one, do a Chapter 1 instead.On a language side, there are various grammatical errors but mostly to do with punctuation and sentence structure. A couple of spelling errors exist too.Watch out for these: resteraunt – restaurant gratitdude – gratitude"Thank you , " I said to him as I bowedwho the n sped out of controlThere are numerous other minor errors but I shall not correct them all. Use a spell checker.Otherwise, the story is hollow and uninteresting. Please take some time to read around at some of the more senior posters here to get an idea of what BUYG is all about. This is a game, yes, but it is also an opportunity for creative writing and expression. Try and work narrative into your story that will excite a reader. Rather than cram so many separate events into 381 words (talk to the boss, drive to and kill some Spaniards, talk to the boss, drive to and kill some Hustlers, talk to the boss), try working on getting 800 words out of the moment you somehow slit three gang-bangers throats in a busy strip-club and escaped. Or, 500 words out of your proud moment in front of the Triad leader as you are initiated into their ranks; not just “ "Good Yu Wi, you are now in the Liberty City Traids ”.Hint for the next story. Write one like this, then stop and ask yourself “why did I kill three of them”. And then, write about why you killed three when all you had to kill was one. Writing in the first-person, “I did this, I did that”, is an opportunity to explore the subconscious. Every decision should be reasoned, and every action should have a reflection.

Phone NumberThe Albanian Mob | Pill Pharmacy | Epilogue & Chapter 1: Uprise$37 + $88= $115As Aragond said, 211 words is far too short and not creditable as a proper piece. However, as Staff is so kind hearted, and since you posted your Chapter 1 so soon after, I shall take the initiative to combined the two in consideration for this review. So this review shall cover both your first and second posted story.Is this an epilogue, or do you mean a prologue? It seems to introduce a character, and gives no indication that the plot is heading towards a particular point, so I am inclined to think you meant prologue.The description in your opening paragraph is excellent and very original. The line Nothing could darken on a day like this than how it already is doesn’t particularly make any sense, but I think I know what your attempting to say. It’s a shame because it’s well written. Could use a bit more flair perhaps, but well done. Also, headlighted is a made up word. Don’t make words up!!Into the main story, well done on the length. 1,101 words is particularly commendable for a new writer. The overarching story is nice. A simple meet and conversation that introduces characters and builds up to a predicament. Unfortunately, and I say this in esteem, there are various grammatical snags that bring it down throughout. Poor sentence structures and out-of-place word choices make an occasionally awkward read. It’s a real shame, as otherwise your lengthy and frequent descriptions are much appreciated.I only pick up on a single spelling mistake: sniveled . However, this minor flaw may just be a “nationality thing” so… whatever.Good work, overall. I’d recommend you focus on making your descriptions tighter. Question every adjective and the implications of the connotations associated with it. Use language to craft a message, not just fill a paragraph. Primarily though, enjoy.

“What the f*ck’s with all these girls, Ton’? Why’d they come here dressed like dat when all’a the guys in there are bent?” He indicated to door of Hercules, where the small company of girls clustered giggling around the coloured bouncer who was turning the charm on to full effect.

“’Cos then they ain’t gotta spend all night tryin’ to ignore ugly f*cks like you and me staring at their asses.” Tony B cracked a laugh at his own joke.

Tony T didn’t respond. He was sat back in his seat with his head rolled to the side, staring at the legs passing on the other side of the road.

“Or maybe they do,” added Tony B.

The street was filled with noise as the door opened to allow the girls to enter the bar, and then fell quiet again with the empty queue. The bouncer paced slowly back and forth; his head down as he saved the new numbers in his mobile phone. In their car, parked slightly down the street, the two Tonys waited patiently. A faint hum reverberated from the building.

“F*cking fa**ots,” spoke Tony T.

“What the f*ck’s up with you now?” questioned the other Tony.

“I mean, that joint’s packed full o’ the tastiest f*cking pussy in Liberty City, and those f*cking fa**ots still wanna f*ck other men.”

“Maybe they don’t,” Tony B replied. “Maybe they’re all havin’ a big orgy or some sh*t that we straight guys will never know about.”

“Seriously?” Tony T’s face was a combination of bewilderment and fascination.

“No you dumb f*ck. They’re gay. They f*ck men, that’s what they do.” Tony B shook his head at the farce of Tony T’s idiocy. “Should’a seen your f*cking face. Thinkin’ you’re all stud or something.”

“F*ck you,” snapped Tony T.

“Hey, it’s not my problem you get a hard-on at the thought of another man.”

“F*ck you,” shouted Tony T, this time greatly more aggravated. “Maybe you’re the one who’s f*cking covering up for bein’ a shirt liftin’ fa**ot.”

A slick Italian walked out of the alley at the side of the club. He wore a shiny blue shirt with a high collar; the top three buttons were undone to reveal a muscular chest. He ran his olive skinned fingers through his dark greased hair whilst surveying the road for their car. He crossed and got straight into the back seat. “Drive.”

As the car set off down the road, Tony T turned around from the passenger seat. “You get him, Foxy?”

The man looked back with an exasperated glare. “Don’t call me that again. It’s The Fox, or, seen it’s you, how about Mr Fortino.” He paused for a second to let Tony T appreciate the message. “Yeah, he’s dead.”

“Good job, Gianni,” Tony B chirped in. “How’d you do it?”

“I blew a hole in his head while he was sucking me off.”

The two Tonys burst with astonishment. “You f*ckin’ did what?” cried Tony T.

“With a gun,” The Fox added, sticking two fingers on his left hand together, and imitating firing at his own crotch, his thumb matching the actions of the hammer. “Even my sizeable beast ain’t that fertile!” he joked.

“That’s f*cking good to know, you sick f*ck.” Tony B’s voice was slightly mocking, but predominantly full of shock. “But what I still don’t get is: what the f*ck was goin’ on with you getting’ a blow-job off of this f*cking guy.” He emphasised ‘guy’ to display his condescension.

“Need him alone, so took him to the toilets.” The Fox’s tale made the other two wince in disgust. “Then he wanted to, so I figured why not get paid twice for the same job.” The Fox laughed with sociopathic hysteria for several seconds then stopped with an expression like stone.

“You’re a sick f*ckin’ man,” said Tony B. “You know that right?”

The Fox smiled knowingly. “There ain’t no other way.”

------------------------

Jimmy Borgetto dropped his cigarette and stamped on it gently with his boot. Taking his body weight off the car, he stood straight and waved energetically. “Hey, Em!” he shouted. “Em, I’m over here.”

Emilio Costa approached. “Hey, Jim. Good of you to come.”

“I think Twotone were gonna be here, but they’s caught up in that sh*t with Little Michael.” Jimmy took Emilio’s case from his hands and carried it to the trunk of the Sentinel. “Your flight okay?”

“Probably better you’re here, Jim. I doubt I could manage those fools after that trip.” Emilio got in the passenger seat and instantly relaxed. “Christ, those aircraft seats are like torture!”

“Be fair, Em. S’only Tony Travino who’s a f*ckin’ idiot.”

Emilio grinned at Jimmy as he shut the door for him. “You’re right there. I doubt Travino would know to take a sh*t if he didn’t have Tony B telling him when.”

“You want me to take you home, Em?” asked Jimmy as he got into the driving seat and started the engine.

“Nah, I got stuff to take care of at the garage.” Emilio’s face was worn and tired. “What’s the deal with Michael then?”

“Maria got The Fox.” Jimmy didn’t need to say anything more. Emilio nodded considerately, aware of the definite nature of that contract, and acutely observing that Maria took the original insult with enough offense to spend a lot of money rectifying it. “Garage will be shut up, Em. Sure you don’t wanna go home, see Mrs C? You lookin’ pretty dead beat if I may say.”

“Nah. You’re right, Jim, I probably should go home,” replied Emilio. “But,” he said, interrupting his initial response, “business is business and it’s never that damn easy.”

“I hear you, boss,” responded Jimmy. He leaned forwards to find their destination on the car’s Satnav. As he did, Emilio opened the glove compartment and produced a small bottle of bourbon.

“What the hell’s this?” asked Emilio. “I left a cognac here. And now it’s turned itself into more whiskey. I’ve been drinking this sh*t for three days.”

Jimmy raised his hands apologetically. “I gave a lift to Tom Fil’ last night. He polished the whole bottle off. That was all they had in the 24/7.”

“That little prick.” Emilio was getting grouchier with the news. “Forget about it. Let’s get a move on.”

------------------------

The light from the street cast a dingy glow over the desks, growing brighter as Emilio moved out of the doorway, and then disappeared as the fire door closed behind him. He moved through the blackness, stumbling in a mild stupor and reaching, one arm forwards to feel for the lamp, until his hand met the desk. He emptied his other hand by placing the half-drunk bottle of bourbon down, then felt to the corner for the switch. The element emitted an orange flicker and the bulb sparked to life; a soft white luminosity revealed the messy surface of the table.

Emilio reclined in the chair and put one leg on the desk. He kicked one shoe off, then the next, nearly losing his balance as he did. Clutching the table to steady himself, he chuckled lightly. From the cabinet in the desk he produced a crystal tumbler, and from the bottle of alcohol, he filled it up. Idly, he thumbed through the corners of the various papers on the table before, deciding none of it mattered to him, swiping the whole lot off the table with one arm.

He lifted the telephone and dialled a number from memory. It rang loud in the empty room before a sleepy voice answered the other end. “Hey, Soph’. It’s me,” Emilio said.

“Yeah, I got back alright, but I’m gonna need to do some stuff at the garage first.

“No, I’m there now.

“No, I can’t f*cking come home.

“Well we can eat it tomorrow. We got a microwave, right?”

He paused and lifted the phone away from his head. Drinking was more favourable than listening to the curses thrown his way.

“Goodnight, Soph’,” he said cynically and bluntly. He held the phone at arm’s length then, firm and aggressively, slammed it down.